Faces of Death

by Erotickynk

Slammer

Marie volunteered for one of the new devices introduced at the 2013 Annual orgy at the Dark Encounters mansion.

The device is called "The Slammer", a spring-loaded steel dildo. It's basically a stainless tube containing a solid 10 inch steel dildo with a sharpened tip. The dildo is latched in place inside the tube with a strong compressed spring behind it. Once it is triggered, the Slammer launches the dildo out of the tube and into whatever is in its way. In this case it will be Marie's abdomen by way of her vagina and uterus.

As her crowd gathers, Marie lays on her back then raises her bum up off the floor, balanced on her feet and hands, allowing Serge to work the thick tube into her cunt. Marie is well fluffed, her cunt wet and gaped from hours of work by her fluffer, so the Slammer slides in with relative ease and no discomfort apparent on Marie's face.

Marie's bio states that she loves being fisted, so this is right up her alley.

"You okay?" Serge asks, holding the Slammer steady. Marie nods, not taking her eyes from the steel tube between her open thighs. So Serge starts working it deeper, sliding it in and out a few times, then pressing it up firmly so it is in solid contact with her cervix.

Marie's expression reveals her calm acceptance of what is being done to her. Her face does not reveal joy, nor fear, nor lust; rather, she seems curious about what the Slammer is about to do to her body and how it will feel. Marie seems detached from the knowledge that her life is about to end. Or maybe she's just ready to pay for her year of pampering.

"Let me know when you're ready," Serge says matter-of-factly.

Marie holds her position, and we can see her working her belly - pushing it out, then tightening it - curling her pelvis slightly until she feels the alignment is right. I notice the moment that she has aligned the sharp tip of the dildo with her cervix; her eyes become unfocused and her lips part as she makes a soft gasping sound. She then presses her lips tight together and pushed her body forward to embed and hold the Slammer in position within her. A little grunt leaves no doubt that the sharp is now starting to widen the opening to her womb.

Without lifting her gaze from the Slammer, Marie nods.

Serge triggers the device.

The action is immediate and shocking; the Slammer bucks hard in Serge's grip, blood spurting from her cunt around the thickness of the tube; Marie's lower belly plumps violently, sending rippling waves up the length of her abdomen, making her breasts jiggle and jerking her body backward. Marie grunts wetly and she grits her teeth, spittle spraying from her loose lips; her thighs try to close around this violent invasion of her body.

Marie begins to tremble then, her arms and legs weakening from the damage done to her sex and abdomen. As she quivers and lowers herself to the floor, Serge slides the Slammer's tube out of her - the end slick with blood.

Marie's eyes are squeezed shut as she comes to rest on her back, her thighs slowly closing tight and her arms sliding around her upper abdomen as she hugs herself. She rolls gently onto her left side and draws her knees up, her body curling around the agony within her belly. She lays quivering like that for a few seconds as she comes to grips with what the steel dildo has done to her inner organs.

Then at last she breathes - one long ragged breath as her eyes open - followed by a long low moan. Marie straightens her legs and rolls back so she is facing upward on the floor. Her once flat lower belly is swelling and growing tight as she bleeds internally. She draws her feet up and opens her thighs, letting them fall open as though she is welcoming a lover.

Marie moans again - a long soulful sound - and she lifts her gaze to the faces of those gathered around her. Her expression has changed now - whether it is from pain or lust or a mixture of both; her brows have worry lines between them, her lips are parted as she breathes, and her lower lip and jaw are quivering.

"What are you feeling?" one of the female guests asks, not unkindly.

Marie's only response is a quavering moan. Suddenly she grimaces and begins to pant, her small hands sliding over her chest and her delicate fingers finding her nipples to twist and twirl them. Her pelvis begins to undulate as though she is humping an unseen lover, and her left leg slowly stretches straight down, shaking, her foot kicking slightly.

Marie's back suddenly arches and her eyes roll up in her head as she twists on the floor, blood puddling on the carpet under her bum.

"... mmmugh!" she lets out a guttural wet moan, then makes a long grunting sound as her body tenses. She begins shaking badly, the muscles of her torso clenched tight and her limbs trembling. This escalates to what looks like a seizure as her body jerks and kicks, her back arching so tight that her body is held aloft on her bum and her shoulders.

From experience, I know this is the end for her. Chances are she is losing awareness of where she is or what is happening to her - all that most likely remains for her is the feeling of the steel dildo buried inside her belly and knowing that she is dying.

After a moment, Marie's body flops limply onto the carpet, her arms falling outward at odd angles, her thighs loose and open. She twitches once, twice, then lies still.

Marie was gone.

Squatter

Jess was a sassy young thing and wanted to do a solo impalement scene right on the ballroom floor. She told us all she wanted to make her last night one to remember and spent the better part of the evening drinking champagne, and having sex with whoever wanted her; male and female guests, fluffers, fellow snuffees, even herself.

When her time came, she was more than ready. Jess was one of those girls that the more she orgasmed the more aroused she became and only exhaustion would stop her. When one of the hosts told her it was time for her to go out, she was wet with sweat and cum and obviously aroused and ready for the ultimate penetration.

The hosts cleared an area in the centre of the ballroom, laid down a plastic sheet, and brought her spit out - it was long enough to reach just under her belly button while resting on the carpeted floor and as thick as her wrist.

I was able to get close to her to take her last living photograph and she smelled of pure sex, from the musky odour of her sweaty body and hair, to the pungent scent of her crotch that was a mixture of well used cunt and rectum, to the sharp skunkiness of fear-sweat from her armpits. I could feel the heat coming off her body from two feet away.

Jess held the top of her spit behind her at an angle with her right hand and slid it between her wet thighs to the opening of her cunt. She eased it deep, moving her pelvis in sensual circles as she nestled it inside herself, smiling at the guests who were gathered close by.

It was obvious that Jess was an attention seeker, and being one of the handful of girls who were doing their snuff performance by their own hands, she was getting a lot of attention.

Once her spit was firmly embedded in her cunt, Jess moved slowly backward with baby-steps - easing herself onto the spit, changing the angle and taking it deeper. We could see the instant the sharp tip found the orifice of her cervix and began to open it by the sudden change in her expression and her little gasp.

"Oh baby," she murmured and began to rock her hips back and forth, fucking herself with the long deadly dildo.

Jess' arousal rose swiftly after that. We watched her belly clenching and her thighs tremble as she skirted the edge of orgasm. She continued to back herself onto the spit, driving it deeper through her cervix and up into her uterus and all the while her thighs shook harder and she moaned louder. Her breathing changed from normal exertion to rapid shallow panting.

I could tell that her show wasn't going to last as long as she wanted or planned it to. This girl was going to lose control, and no matter how hard she struggled, her erratic shaking thighs were going to be her undoing.

"Gunna cum!" Jess grunted as her body started jerking and spasming, then she squealed as her belly muscles clenched tight. As her orgasm peaked and calmed a bit, she moved backward, taking the spit even deeper. She strained and groaned as the spit stretched her uterus upward, concentrating the pressure on the sharp tip that was trying to force its way out of her womb and into her abdominal cavity.

We all saw the instant the spit broke through. Her eyes flashed wide and she made a guttural wet sound in her throat as her thighs squeezed tight around the spit shaft. The muscles of her belly were suddenly clenched and quivering as she felt the steel amongst her intestines as her stretched uterus and vagina slid back down the shaft's length.

Jess held herself there for a moment, panting to catch her breath, her eyes closed as she came to grips with these new sensations. Then she reached up and played with her nipples and as we watched, her abdominals relaxed and her belly softened.

Jess' eyes opened and she became aware of all the people watching her once more. Her lips formed a faltering smile.

"Holy fuck," she gasped.

The smile soon faded from her full lips, and she once more closed her eyes and started backing up, taking the spit deeper until it was upright between her thighs, it's base firm on the floor between her feet. Jess then slowly and carefully stepped her feet apart an inch at a time, lowering herself onto the steel inside her. Every once in awhile she would whimper and shudder.

Once her feet were fairly wide apart, Jess began to bend her knees and lower herself further. She got to the point where she could reach down and steady herself by grasping her thighs. Her motions became slower then, steadying her upper torso and rocking gently back and forth as she lowered herself by millimeters.

At one point she let out a quavering moan: "Oh-h-h-h," and then gasped, "... fuck me ... fuck me ... fuck me ..."

We were getting near the end point by then, because her thighs were shaking very badly, sweat was literally dripping from her face and breasts and trickling down her body and legs.

Then she gagged. Her eyes opened and she stared straight ahead, still gently rocking herself on the spit. She gagged again, then heaved a little - the spit was pressed up against the underside of her stomach.

Her final heave started slow, but grew in intensity as her body curled. Her mouth opened, her lower lip quivering, and we heard the gurgling as champagne burbled up her gullet to flow from her mouth and over her chin. But the heave grew stronger, her belly clenching so tight she squeezed her eyes closed. Her legs were shaking badly then and her left hand slipped off her thigh.

I knew what was going to happen a second before it did - all her strenuous sexual activity combined with not eating for hours and drinking champagne all evening had left her too weak to endure what was happening to her. Jess' legs gave out and she began the final slide down the spit.

To her credit, Jess lifted her chin, expecting the tip to find its way through her stomach and up her gullet, but she was collapsing slightly to the side and she didn't experience the ending she wanted, to take the spit right up through her mouth and choke to death on it.

I'll never forget the hopelessness of her groan as that spit slowly disappeared inside her body and her jiggling round bum crinkled the plastic sheet as she flopped down onto the floor.

Unfortunately for Jess, the spit missed her gullet and imbedded itself through her left lung, The tip broke through her skin just inside her collar bone.

Jess sat on the floor, staring at nothing, her thighs open, her knees bent, and her hands limp in her lap. Her body jerked in what looked like hiccups and blood drooled from her lower lip. It took her three minutes to die.

It's not Okay

Sometimes, for the girl, it is not okay. Sara was a sad little thing and her death was sad as well. They found her in the staff showers after one of the hosts noticed she wasn't on the floor and her turn was coming up.

She was sitting on the floor of the shower, staring at nothing as the warm water sprayed down on her. The Host had brought Sara's fluffer, Candice and two of the security staff with him expecting a struggle, but Sara went with them without an argument.

Candice held Sara's hand as they walked to the ballroom and through the crowd to her station. Her eyes were dull, not seeing anyone or anything - this was a girl who had lost all hope and all interest in life. When they arrived at her station, Sara stood and stared at the device that would end her life without expression.

It was a machine designed by one of the guests who paid for Sara to ride it - he chose her because he wanted a timid girl to test his machine. The machine itself consisted of a metal chair with a frame that held a modified rotary meat slicer. It was basically a circular razor blade that spun at high speed. It had a cast and polished aluminum guard around the blade that would only let it cut one inch deep into a human body - just enough to get through skin, fat, and muscle without too much damage to the bowels. The cutting head could be swung back and forth to adjust for the size of the girl in the chair.

The guest inventor was chatting quietly with friends and admirers as Sara stood naked on display with his machine as photos were taken. She didn't make eye contact with anyone and showed no emotion as we took pictures. It's as though she was resigned to her fate and didn't care that a crowd had gathered to watch her die. She didn't even react when the Host announced that it was time to start; Sara just moved calmly to the chair.

Perhaps she was dead already - dead inside; her spirit gone.

Candice helped steady Sara as she straddled the chair and sat, then cuffed her ankles to the frame. The ankle restraints were back along the sides of the chair so her knees were bent with her feet under her bum, making it natural for her back to arch and her belly to thrust forward. But Sara was a willowy little thing and could easily curl her body so her belly was sucked in and her back was pressed tight against the chair.

The snuff master unlocked the armature holding the cutting blade and swung it toward Sara's belly. Sara stared at the rotary head of the machine and curled her body so her stomach was concave, keeping the blade two inches away from her flesh. Within a few seconds she had to lift her shoulders and upper body upward and hold herself straight upright to maintain that posture.

Candice stepped behind Sara and reached over her shoulders, teasing her nipples as the snuff master started the rotary slicer. The razor sharp blade whirred to life, spinning at 300 rpm within two inches of Sara's tight pale belly - the polished metal blade a blur where it protruded from the guard.

The blade was spinning so fast it was fanning Candice's soft blond hair as she tried to stimulate Sara. Sara didn't seem to be responding to Candice stroking her nipples and nibbling on her earlobe and neck, she just stared at the head of the machine between her open thighs, whirring in front of her body.

The guest inventor was sharing commentary with his friends, as they disagreed and wagered on how long Sara could hold her position. There also seemed to be a wager on whether she would struggle all the way until she lost strength or give in and push her belly forward to end it.

As Sara continued to stare at the spinning blade, her breathing became ragged. Real fear was at last creeping into her, her brows knitting, her lips pulling tight across her clenched teeth, and she began to tremble. I suppose sad little Sara knew she was losing the battle to keep away from the blade.

"Oh fuck," she gasped, her eyes locked on the blur of razor sharp steel jusyt inches from her belly. Her abdominal muscles were clenching and quivering as she tried to maintain her distance from the spinning blade. We could all see that it's a struggle she will eventually lose.

And sure enough, a few seconds later her belly started to bow outward and the blade just barely kissed it, drawing a thin red line on her skin. Sara gasped and sat bolt upright, pushing herself up with her hands and sucking her stomach in tight once more.

Sara began shaking badly then, making small mewling sounds. Candice kissed her neck and nibbles an earlobe.

Sara was showing signs of desperation then - struggling to hold herself up and her belly sucked inward. Shaking badly, her skin started to grow shiny with sweat, the musky scent of fear sweat from her armpits grew strong in the air. Her palms must have been wet with sweat also, because her hands kept slipping on the chair arms.

But she held out another three minutes, her body quivering as she strained to keep away from the whirring blade. But at last she realized she was only prolonging the inevitable and closed her eyes.

Her body relaxed somewhat and we all sensed she was preparing herself. With her eyes closed, Sara bit her lower lip and slowly lowered herself, her belly coming perilously close to the blade. She took three slow breaths, blowing each one out slowly and on the third exhale she arched her back and pushed her stomach outward, pressing it hard against the aluminum guard and allowing the spinning blade to bite deep into her belly.

Sara grunted and grimaced as we heard the violent hiss of the spinning blade eviscerating her long belly. The pressure of her belly on the armature triggered it to fall away from her and the motor to shut down - but the irreparable damage was done ...

Sara's eyes opened and she stared blankly at the floor in front of her. A long thin line was traced down her belly directly through her belly button almost to her mound.

Her lower lip started to tremble as she curled her body forward slightly, slumping in her chair, and the action caused her belly to open like a cloth purse. Coils of intestine protruded from inside her and she started to pant once more - but weaker now. She seemed to be consciously avoiding looking down at herself. Her breath caught in her throat and she swallowed with difficulty. A large clot of pink coils flopped from the middle of her belly to slide down over her crotch. It was when feeling that she grunted and looked down.

"... no ... no ... no ... noooooo ..." Sara sobbed as her eyes grew shiny with tears.

Candice moved around to her side, leaning in and massaging Sara's neck with one hand. Candice looked up at the guest inventor who nodded at her silent question.

What Sara didn't know was that at this point, the inventor no longer cared about the girl who was dying on his device. The thrill for him had been to watch her struggle and her final surrender to the inevitable. The inventor's nod was for Candice to proceed and give Sara a faster, merciful death than the slow, painful end that awaited her.

"... I'm so scared ..." Sara sobbed then shuddered as more of her entrails slump from her open belly to puddle in her lap.

"No-no-no, don't be scared," Candice said gently to her, then reached up and laid two fingers against Sara's jaw, turning her face toward her, "Look at me. Look at me, Sara."

Sara turned her head and looked into Candice's eyes, her face pleading and frightened, wet with tears and snot.

"Don't be scared, honey," Candice told the girl firmly but gently, sliding her hand down under her chin, her long fingers sliding around Sara's throat. Candice squeezed firmly and Sara makes a wet choking sound.

"It's going to be okay, Sara," Candice said as she started to strangle the girl. "It's okay."

Sara seemed confused at first at what Candice was doing to her, but she didn't fight it - just continued to gaze into Candice's eyes.

"That's right. Just let it take you," Candice cooed as Sara's face darkened and her lips started to turn a pale blue, "It's okay. It's okay to let go. It will all be over soon."

We all see the moment when Sara understands, her face softening and her eyelids drooping. She was letting go, and her eyes grow unfocused and her head grew heavy, lolling loose above Candice's tight grip around her throat. After a moment more her head fell forward to rest on Candice's left wrist.

The guest inventor walked away with his friends to seek other thrills while Candice and the disposal team were left to clean up.

Quick

Janelle was led from the bondage room, her wrists and arms bound to her torso by strong leather straps, and paraded through the crowd to the raised platform.

Her escorts quickly forced her to kneel, then lower herself to lay her chest on the leather-covered top of the rough wooden stage that was no more than a heavy box. As she was prepared, her fluffer worked her cunt with two fingers, stimulating her g-spot.

Janelle didn't struggle as they placed the forged iron collar around the back of her neck and looped a chain through the rings under her throat. The chain was pulled tight, and Janelle was held tight in position.

Janelle's fluffer stepped away as the snuff master stepped forward, brandishing the heavy two-handed sword. Without any preamble, he raised the sword high above his head and swung it down with deadly speed.

In the last second of her life, Janelle grunted loudly and pushed up with her thighs, as though trying to pull herself away from the course of the blade at the last minute. She could not - of course - save herself, and the heavy blade severed her neck with a violent wet thud.

As her head dropped to the floor and blood gushed from her open neck, Janelle's body jerked and lifted free, her bowels and bladder gushing as it flopped backward on the platform.

Three guests vomited, and most moved quickly away from her twitching body. I think I was the only one to see that Janelle's eyes remained open and blinked three times before they dulled and glazed.

Hanged

Chelsea had opted for a hoisted hanging - the method of hanging most popular amongst the Dark Encounters crowd. Instead of the short or long drop, hoisted hangings are just that; The girls are lifted from a sanding position by the noose around their necks and get the full experience of strangulation.

When they came for Chelsea, a few of her fans were standing around the armchair in which she was slumped while her fluffer, Doria sucked, licked, and fingered her to repeated orgasms. A lot of the girls just want to be taken to the edge of orgasm and kept there so they go to their deaths highly aroused. Not Chelsea.

By the time they were ready for her on the gallows, Chelsea was almost delirious from her rolling orgasms. She seemed disoriented and confused as the hangman called her name and lifted her from her armchair by gripping her upper right arm. As he led her to the gallows, Chelsea was unsteady, staggering and weaving, her legs loose and uncoordinated as she tried to walk. Her legs gave out as she tried climbing the four-foot flight of stairs, so the hangman and Doria had to support her as they half carried her to the top.

We could all hear the whimpers and quivering gasps she made as they positioned her under the noose and cuffed her hands behind her back. And all the while her eyes darted around the room as though she were awakening from a bad dream.

It wasn't until the hangman fitted the noose around her neck that Chelsea appeared to fully comprehend that her year of pampering was about to end - along with her life. Her eyes were fixed on the hangman's hooded face, her body muscles tensing and her thighs beginning to quiver.

We could hear the small weak sounds from her throat as she looked sideways into the eyes of the hangman. We could see the pure terror on her face - Chelsea knew she was about to die and that knowledge was not sitting well with her. But like all the girls who would die tonight, this is what she signed up for. Like all the others, Chelsea was given a full year of pampering - her every wish was granted, and this is the price she must pay.

"I'm not ready," she gasped, tears brimming in her eyes, her chin quivering. Her entire body was shaking, her abdominal muscles tight, making her belly flat, her nipples had softened and were flaccid. All sexual desire had fled her in those few moments.

"Please!" she sobbed, closing her eyes, her tears flowing down her paling cheeks, as the hangman stepped aside and took hold of the winch controls that hang from a thick cable attached to the gallows. He hits a button and the rope above her started to straighten as the slack was taken up.

"Not yet! Please not yet!" Chelsea cried out, her face a mask of sorrow and fear, her mouth pulled tight, drool wetting her chin. The rope grew tight and Chelsea rose up on her tip toes as the noose cinched tight around her throat.

"I don't wanna ... glurgl!" she made a wet gagging sound as her neck stretched and she was lifted off her toes. Her eyes opened wide in shock and terror as the hangman continued to lift her until her feet were about a foot off the stage.

As she dangled, Chelsea kicked weakly, struggling, trying to twist herself free. Her tongue appeared to be swelling in her mouth - but those who are experienced knew that this was the noose constricting her throat and pushing the root of her tongue upward into the back of her throat. Those of us close to the stage could hear the liquid gurgling in her belly as that same constriction triggered her gag reflex. She began to heave, her belly undulating as her stomach convulsed in rhythmic pulses.

Chelsea's eyelids drooped and she stared at nothing as her body reacted to her fast approaching death; Her abdominal muscles relaxed and her belly plumped outward, continuing its gurgling convulsions in a slow steady rhythm. Her legs parted into an inverted "V," her toes pointing straight down as her thigh, calf and bum muscles clenched tight and trembled. Behind her back, her hands clenched in little fists and her arms tried to lift.

Her face was deepening in colour and her tongue was truly swelling in her mouth - it pressed outward to lay plump and purple over her loose lower lip. Shiver-bumps spread over her bum, thighs, belly, and breasts, and her nipples puckered and tightened. She was entering the blissful stage of strangulation - this is the time when some girls [and some men] experience a death-orgasm.

Suddenly, Chelsea's lower torso and thighs began shaking violently and her eyes rolled up under her drooping eyelids. A strong stream of piss jetted from her labia to spray the stage and the feet of those of us standing too close.

This was it - Chelsea's final seconds.

Her head lifted and slid to the side, the rope burning across her throat as she arched her back, her entire body going rigid. We heard the wet farting sounds as she lost control of her bowels and a thin beige fluid slid down her inner thighs - remnants of her pre-snuff enemas.

Her face grew to a deep purple as her body gave one last strong convulsion and she flopped limp. Chelsea's head then fell forward and her body stilled to the occasional twitch and quiver - her dying nerves still firing.

The guests applauded politely then dispersed to seek out other girl's final moments.

Mama!

The crowd of guests watching Rita fuck Jackie with a strap-on would, I knew, be titilated when they learned the nature of their relationship. The girl, in her late teens, was starting to sweat and squirm as Rita expertly slid the dildo deep into Jackie's bowels with long slow thrusts.

Only the ones who'd been watching from the start knew that the dildo was a full 10 inches long.

And it wasn't just sexual fluffing that Rita was performing for Jackie, it had a practical purpose as well; The long dildo was opening Jackie's bowels, loosening the inner sphincters and straightening her rectum and sigmoid colon to prepare her for what was to come.

As Rita continued to fuck the younger girl, the snuff artist, a Spaniard that the Dark Encounters people had flown over just for this evening's entertainment, knelt between Jackie's open legs and laid his six foot spit on the futon mattress. Reaching up, he undid the snaps holding the strap-on harness to Rita's hips.

As Rita obediently lifted her pelvis and slid forward onto Jackie's lower back, the Spaniard continued to slide the dildo in and out of Jackie's body as she shivered and moaned, no doubt suddenly feeling the change.

I was close enough that I could see the tears welling in the girl's eyes. Jackie knew what was about to happen and moaned as the Spaniard slid the dildo gently from her rectum.

Jackie closed her eyes, her lips parting as she awaited the first penetration of the spit. The Spaniard carefully guided the sharp end of the spit into Jackie's loose anus and slid it deep enough to fill the girl's rectum.

"... oh fuck ..." Jackie grunted and shuddered at the initial penetration. The snuff artist began to slowly fuck her with the spit, easing it slowly deeper as he did.

Rita leaned forward and began massaging the girl's neck and shoulders.

For the next few minutes, it was a continuation of the fucking Rita had given her as a warm-up. But as the Spaniard worked the spit deeper and deeper, Jackie began to pant and squirm under Rita.

That was when Jackie revealed the nature of their relationship ... something all us staff members knew, but the guests did not.

"Oh mama, I'm going to die," Jackie whimpered and some of the guests gasped to hear this. Rita was helping her young daughter to die.

"I know, baby," Rita said in hushed tones, "But it's going to be intense and it's going to be good."

"... promise?" Jackie gasped.

"I promise," Rita replied.

Jackie grimaced and grunted and it became apparent that the Spaniard had found an obstruction in Jackie's bowels - no doubt the turn her ascending colon made near the top of her abdomen. He pulled back on the spit and slid it deeper, pressing firmly, the sharp tip embedding itself in the tender but tough flesh of Jackie's large bowel.

Rita felt her daughter tensing and slid her bum back over Jackie's and placed her hands on each of the girl's shoulders, letting her full weight pin her to the floor.

The Spaniard pushed firmly and relentlessly, meaning to break through Jackie's colon into her abdominal cavity.

Jackie buried her face into the mattress and mewled and whined as the Spaniard worked her. We could all see the instant the spit broke through; Jackie's legs jerked hard and she screamed into the mattress. The Spaniard immediately went back to fucking her with the spit.

Jackie lifted her face, her eyes closed, her mouth open and wet with drool.

"... oh god ... oh my god ..." she gasped and panted, her hands opening and closing as she was overwhelmed by the sensations inside her body.

Barely giving her enough time to get used to this new, deeper penetration, the Spaniard pressed the spit even deeper. We knew he had made solid contact with her stomach sac when Jackie gagged and dry-heaved. The Spaniard pushed deeper and Jackie heaved harder, her tongue protruding and drool wetting her lower lip and chin.

The Spaniard knew that for the best show he had to move quickly at this point so Jackie didn't lose consciousness - he pushed the spit deeper into her and Jackie strained and grunted between heaves, now past the point of being able to form words. Again we could tell the instant the spit penetrated her stomach by her body suddenly jerking and her feet kicking feebly against the mattress. The Spaniard was relentless, sliding the spit back and forth inside her young body, moving it ever deeper with each stroke.

Jackie fought it then - and it is sad when they fight it. Her eyes opened wide and raw fear showed on her face. She tried to twist under Rita, but her mother kept her pinned tight to the mattress.

"No, baby," Rita said to her daughter as she struggled to keep the girl belly-down on the floor. "This is the big one. The one we've all been waiting for."

Yeah - Rita turned out to be a gold-plated bitch - taking great enjoyment in her daughter's tortured death. Even though Jackie fought like hell, she was overpowered by her larger and stronger mother, and as the Spaniard fucked her with the spit, Jackie started to vomit. It wasn't a violent thing though, she just opened her mouth and it slowly flowed over her tongue and lower lip to puddle under her chin - watery puke laced with streaks of blood. He expertly pulled the spit back a bit and Jackie choked then drew a deep shuddering breath.

It was to be her last.

The Spaniard pushed the spit deep into her and obviously had found the girl's gullet, for Jackie's expression turned to one of surprise and awe and she stopped puking. We all watched as her mouth opened and closed and her throat worked.

Rita slid one hand under Jackie's jaw and lifted, straightening her throat.

"This is it, Jackie," Rita said breathlessly, obviously aroused by what was being done to her daughter. "This is it! Take it baby, take it!"

The muscles on Jackie's flanks were clenching rhythmically and her body was trying to curl as her gag reflex was over-stimulated by the spit that was now pushing up the root of her tongue. Jackie made a wet gurgling sound as she opened her mouth wide and the tip of the spit slid out between her white teeth, her eyes crossing as she stared at it.

The Spaniard pushed until the spit protruded a foot past Jackie's lips, then patted Rita on the bottom.

As Rita slid her right hand down Jackie's belly to cup her mound, Jackie reached up with trembling hands and gripped the spit protruding from her mouth in her fists. As Rita curled two fingers into Jackie's cunt and massaged her g-spot, Jackie's thighs closed tight around Rita's hand, trapping it there. Her ankles crossed and her body began shuddering and quivering.

Rita looked up at the gathered crowd and smiled.

"She's cumming," Rita said proudly, "My little girl is cumming."

Jackie's orgasm lasted a full two minutes before her hands went limp and let go of the spit and her body calmed and slumped. Rita planted one ingenuous kiss on her dead daughter's forehead and rose to seek out more deviant thrills.

I am looking forward to next year, when Rita will be on the receiving end.

Stoned

Allie broke the rules. She never talked about her past, but rumour had it that she had been sexually abused as a child, by who was pure speculation. But one thing we knew for sure is that she spent her year of pampering as high or as drunk as she could - the bills from four hospital emergency wards attested to that.

On the occasions she wasn't high, she would joke that when she was horny her name was Allie-cat, and when she was angry it was Allie-gator.

The night of the Annual Orgy, Allie was stoned once again, and stayed stoned all evening as she stumbled around the ballroom, sometimes slumped in a chair half-conscious. The hosts had given up trying to find the drugs she'd smuggled into the mansion, and just let her be. Instead of trying to get her sobered up, the hosts quietly offered Allie to any guest willing to pay for a unique death for her. They found one near midnight.

The guest was a handsome woman in her fifties, dressed in a silver gown, with her naturally silvery white hair done up in ringlets. The woman sipped champagne as she paid for Allie and whispered the nature of Allie's death to a Host.

As one Host brought a plush chair and placed it in front of the woman and her friends, another found Allie and brought her to be introduced to the woman who just paid for her death.

"I just paid for the privilege of choosing how you are about to die, Allie," the woman said quietly. "How do you feel about that?"

Allie gazed at the woman from under heavy eyelids and shrugged. "Gotta go sometime," Allie slurred.

The woman smiled and nodded to another Host who produced what at first appeared to be a strap-on dildo, but it didn't look quite right. The dildo part was fine - a thick flexible life-like rubber cock. But the strap was all wrong. It took a moment, but the guests soon realized that the strap was to wrap around the back of a person's head, not their hips.

Two hosts gently but firmly took Allie by the upper arms and moved her to the chair, sitting her frail thin body down, then strapping her wrists to the chair's arms. Allie didn't fight them, but calmly watched as she was strapped down, her eyes slipping in and out of focus.

Many of us watching felt a pang of sympathy for Allie as we stood staring at her thin arms and legs, her tiny sagging breasts, and her small pooched out belly. Hers was a body that was malnourished and lacking muscle tone - evidence of a year spent mostly in bed, high or drunk.

One Host rose and stood behind the chair and reached around, to run his fingers through Allie's long hair, pulling it gently back so it was away from her face. He then gave her shoulders a squeeze before sliding one hand around her throat and lifting her chin, tilting her head back.

Allie smiled up at him for his small kindness and gentle touch.

At the same time, the other Host produced a tube of astroglide and coated the shaft of the dildo he held. When he was done, he nodded at the Host standing behind Allie.

The second Host stepped forward and held the dildo tip down and brought it to Allie's lips, slowly inserting it past her full lips.

"Deep breath," said the Host behind her, sliding both hands around her jaw line.

Allie took a deep breath through her nose that was cut off as the dildo was pushed into her mouth and throat and she moaned wetly as it slid down her gullet until the base pressed firmly against her chin. The Host behind her quickly pulled the straps around the back of her head and cinched them tight together, anchoring the dildo to her.

We watched as Allie came to grips with her throat being filled, her belly undulating gently as she gagged on it. And then began what I can only describe as a slow sensual dance.

Although Allie was seated and her wrists were bound to the chair, her body moved like a dancer, slowly undulating and writhing sensually. She pulled at the straps around her wrists, but not the frantic tugging of one fearful of dying, but in slow movements, as though her body needed more room, more freedom in its final dance.

We watched as Allie's thighs squeezed closed, then slowly opened as she planted her feet firmly on the carpet and lifted her bum off the chair's seat, slowly humping the air in front of her as though an invisible lover were fucking her in slow measured strokes.

Allie's eyes remained closed throughout her death dance, and her face was relaxed making it appear she was experiencing ecstasy. And maybe she was. Maybe the drugs she had taken had finally reached maximum potency. Or maybe it was the bliss of dying that we witnessed.

Either way, Allie moved with sensual slowness as her life faded, finally lowering her bum back down and spreading her thighs wide, milky mucus flowing in little pulses from the parted lips of her cunt. Her back arched at the end, her neck craned backward, the thick dildo bulging her delicate throat. Her small hands gripped in little fists.

Allie held that position without moving for a very long time, the only indication that she still lived was the undulating of her stomach and the liquid churning as her body tried to vomit the dildo from her gullet. But at last her stomach calmed, her belly going flaccid and drooping, her small fists opening.

In the end, it was a good death.

Guest

Occasionally some of our female guests become so aroused and so caught up in the orgy of death, that they seek to join our girls. The Hosts usually talk them out of it, but there are times they persist and get their way.

Skyler was one of those guests. Her death wasn't spectacular, in fact it wasn't much of a show at all and went almost unnoticed.

Skyler caught my attention early in the evening, first; because she came solo, and second; she just didn't fit with the rest of the crowd. I found out later that she was a personal secretary to one of the corporate heavyweights who is a Dark Encounters member but only an occasional visitor to the mansion. He'd given Skyler his tickets to the Annual Orgy, and even with such an exclusive invitation, Skyler couldn't find a date to accompany her.

She was an awkward kind of girl - pretty, but a little heavy in the thighs, and she wore this unstylish synthetic one-piece pantsuit that really wasn't flattering for her figure.

The other thing that made Skyler awkward, was her wide-eyed wonder as she watched our girls die one by one. She was especially drawn to hanging and strangling shows. I suppose it started with Tara's orgasmic solo hanging dance act to the tune "Don't Fear The Reaper."

I overheard a few of our more sophisticated guests making jokes about her, and pointing out the obvious wetness of the crotch of her pantsuit. Twice during the evening, I saw Skyler masturbating with her hand trapped between her plump thighs as she sat and watched the shows. She thought she was hiding it, but I could tell by the way she would sit upright as her bum jiggled that she was experiencing more than one orgasm.

I lost track of her for a time - which was difficult to do given the bright blue of her pantsuit - and when I caught sight of her again out of the corner of my eye, she was with a Host who was explaining the workings of a garrote chair. I had my suspicions as to why that conversation was taking place.

I was photographing another act and as soon as it was done I quickly made my way through the crowd to the corner where the garrote chair was located.

Only a few guests were watching her act, most appeared bored as they sipped their drinks. Some of our guests are so jaded, that unless a death is spectacular they view it as mundane.

Skyler was already well along in the process of dying when I arrived. Her pale face was flushed a deep crimson and she was grimacing, her tongue pushed up in the back of her throat from the wide strap, and drool was slipping from her lower lip. She was openly masturbating, the fingers of her right hand working her crotch furiously through the thin wet material of her pantsuit. I was in time to see her final orgasm - her body jerked hard, her thighs squeezed tight around her hand, and the muscles of her belly convulsed violently.

Skyler's final orgasm lasted a full thirty seconds before her body started to calm, her fingers stopped their movement, and her arms flopped limp at her sides. She slumped then, her head tilting to the side, and her plump thighs gone flaccid. The crotch of her pantsuit was dark with moisture.

I felt a rush of deep sadness as I stood staring at her lifeless form. I don't believe Skyler's death was so much an erotic act as it was an assisted suicide, and I wonder if not being able to find a date to accompany her was the final blow that drove her to adding her life to those lost that night.

Rich Girl Slammed

Ginny was the daughter of a telecommunications giant and had been coming to the Annual Orgy with her rich parents since she was 15 years old. She appeared to be the picture of innocence over the years, smiling sweetly at all who met her and speaking softly to all she met.

But we staff members knew her sweetness and innocence was a front for what lay beneath; she had fucked most of the staff members, even staying until morning once to take part in the staff orgy after the other guests had departed. Her favourite activity was doing edge play with the snuff masters.

But this year was to be different and very risky for those who were about to take part.

Ginny had watched the deaths of a number of girls this year, but it was the impalements that had excited her most.

Ginny knew the rules of Dark Encounters, that only qualified Hosts could approve sexual deaths of guests. She also knew that her father had forbade Ginny volunteering. He knew of her sexual excesses, (and some say approved of them), but he drew the line at Ginny ending her life as so many young women do at the mansion.

To circumvent this, Ginny had targeted the Spaniard. She knew he was a contracted snuff master and had no allegiance to the organization, and so might indulge her. Myself and three other regular staff took the Spaniard aside and told him about Ginny's father's orders and warned him of the dire consequences if she died and he was found to be the one who did it. The Spaniard laughed at our concerns, and said he would fulfill her wishes no matter what - he feared no one because of his European employers. Besides, she had offered him a thick stack of hundred dollar bills to make her wishes come true.

So the Spaniard made the arrangements to come to Ginny's guest suite in the morning and promised to bring the device she wanted.

I admit that the thought of witnessing Ginny's sexual demise stirred a longing in me, so as the sun began to rise after the last guest had either departed or paired or tripled up in their suites, I made my way to Ginny's suite.

One of our fluffers who also knew about the arrangement greeted me at the door and led me to the bedroom [I won't use her name in case any of the Dark Encounter's people reads this, I wouldn't want her to lose her year of pampering because of her involvement]. Ginny was already there, naked and fucking herself with a black curved vibrator. She smiled at me as I entered the room, but continued to stimulate herself, pulling the hard plastic sex toy deep inside herself, pumping it in and out in long firm strokes. I could see that it was bottoming out against her cervix by the way her lower belly muscles clenched on the bottom of each stroke. The musky smell of her sex and her pungent fear sweat was thick in the room.

"I hope he gets here soon," Ginny said to us, her voice quavering slightly - from lust or fear, or most likely a mixture of both.

"You're really going to do it this time?" I asked as I sat in one of the plush chairs in the room facing the foot of the bed and poured myself a brandy from a side table.

"Fuck yeah," Ginny gasped, pausing her self-administered fucking to let a building orgasm calm down. The fluffer and I watched as she quivered and breathed her way along the edge of orgasm for a few moments before letting out a long sigh and resuming thrusting the vibrator deep into herself.

"I'm so ready for this," Ginny told us. "I've been ready for years, but you know daddy."

"So, Ginny," I asked, watching her firm young body moving in such a sexual way. "How is it to be done? What did you choose?"

Ginny giggled and smiled at me, "You'll see," was all she said.

The Spaniard arrived about five minutes later with something long wrapped in a large pool towel.

"About time." Ginny smiled up at him as he came directly to the bed and sat on the edge, the package he brought across his lap. He reached out and stroked her inner thigh, appreciating the softness.

"You need the warm-up?" he asked her, his accent thick. "To wait a small while?"

"Nope," Ginny said, starting to fuck herself a little faster and a little firmer. "Just get it ready."

"So, no romance." The Spaniard smiled as he started unwrapping the thing on his lap. "Just do it and go?"

"Yeah," Ginny gasped through gritted teeth, her breathing growing faster and more frantic as she worked herself. "Just fuck me and go. You don't even have to stay to watch how it ends."

"Okay," the Spaniard shrugged and flipped the towel off the metal thing in his hand.

"Oh fuck yeah," Ginny gasped, turning herself slightly so her crotch was closer to him and opening her thighs wide. Her eyes spoke of her lust as she stared at the shining metal device in his hands. It took me a moment to recognize it - after all, I'd only seen it used once.

The Slammer.

I felt a rush of tingles when I realized that this was the way Ginny wanted to go out - with a heavy metal dildo violently imbedded deep in her abdomen.

"Hurry," Ginny gasped as she redoubled her efforts, fucking herself hard with her vibrator.

The Spaniard cocked the lever that compressed the spring inside the Slammer, the strength needed to load this thing reminding me of cocking a crossbow. The loud metallic 'click' as it set was loud in the room, a sharp contrast to Ginny's shallow rapid breathing and the wet squishing sounds of the vibrator plunging in and out of her cunt.

The Spaniard lifted the heavy solid dildo and slid it down the muzzle of the Slammer, and pushed it inside until only the sharp tip protruded from the end.

Ginny was frantic by then, her open thighs quivering, her right arm blurring as she fucked herself, her left fist shaking as she gripped the sheets of the bed. And as the Spaniard positioned himself better on the bed and moved the business end of the Slammer toward Ginny's crotch, she yanked the vibrator from her sopping loose cunt.

"Do it! Do it," Ginny gasped desperately, the fat of her thighs jiggling in her excitement and fear. "Give it to me!"

The Spaniard aligned the tip of the steel dildo and pushed the shaft of the Slammer deep inside her with one steady push. Ginny grunted gutturally as he pushed so hard he moved her backward on the bed, her bum sliding on the sweat damp sheets.

"Yeah! Yeah! YEAH!" Ginny cried out as he fucked her with it. I have never seen such frantic desperation in a girl about to experience a sexual death before - and I've witnesses hundreds in my time at Dark Encounters. I suppose all her sensations were amped up by the knowledge that something as deadly as the Slammer was inside her.

"Holy shit," I heard the fluffer whisper beside me. "She ..."

I never heard the rest of her comment, because without warning the Spaniard pulled the trigger.

The Slammer bucked hard in his hands, and Ginny grunted loudly and wetly - a small spray of foamy vomit spewing past her loose fluttering lips, driven up her gullet by the force of the impact inside her. Her belly bloated hard as the steel dildo was slammed deep into her abdomen.

Ginny grunted and shuddered as the Spaniard pulled the Slammer from her cunt and dropped it to thud onto the floor. His job done, the Spaniard rose and picked up the thick wad of bills on the dresser and walked to the door.

"I have a flight," he said simply and was gone, leaving us alone.

Ginny began making straining sounds as the shock of the impact wore off. To her credit, she kept her thighs open wide and still held the vibrator, clutched in her right hand.

Her thighs were shaking badly and her body undulated as it came to grips with the violent penetration of her abdominal cavity. Her inner organs must have been a mass of bruising.

"Cumming!" Ginny cried out past clenched teeth.

And cum she did; she never stopped convulsing for a solid three minutes, her orgasm pounding her young body like storm surge waves bursting against a seawall. And when it started to subside, Ginny plunged the vibrator deep into herself once more - fucking herself with it as she desperately tried to hold on to the orgasmic sensations.

As her movements slowed and she lay back on the bed, we could see that her abdomen was swelling - growing plump and tight like Marie's did earlier. That could only mean one thing; she was bleeding badly inside.

As her energy drained, so did the colour on her face and body. She grew pale and her body broke out in a cold sweat. She left the vibrator inside her and lifted both trembling hands to her face, rubbing it, sliding one hand around behind her neck.

"... tingling ..." Ginny said weakly, trying to tell us what she was feeling. "... don't feel good ..." then she gently sobbed: " ... I made a mistake ..."

The fluffer beside me rose and lay down on the bed beside Ginny, taking the dying girl in her arms, turning her so her face nestled between her breasts.

"Shhh," the fluffer whispered softly to her. "It's going to be okay, honey."

"... scared ..." Ginny whimpered, trembling as the vibrator slipped from her cunt to flop onto the bed, followed by a slow ooze of dark blood. The fluffer hugged Ginny tightly to her, rubbing the girl's back.

"It's okay, Ginny. It's okay. Just go to sleep," the fluffer's voice was soothing as she began to hum a gentle lullaby, cradling the dying girl in her arms. Ginny whimpered, but her body appeared to be calming.

Five minutes later, Ginny moaned softly then fell silent. The fluffer looked at me and forced a smile.

"She's gone."

Runaway

Occasionally one of our contract girls runs before the Annual Orgy, having a last minute change of heart. But any Dark Encounters contract is iron clad - the girls all get a year of pampering and wish fulfillment and in turn forfeit their life. With the resources at their fingertips, Dark Encounters takes that life no matter how far or how fast they run.

One such girl was Janice and they sent me along to video tape her death for the members to view at next year's orgy.

Maurice, on contract with Dark Encounters, and I drove to an apartment building on the west side. Maurice wore gloves the entire time, as did I. I made sure that my camera was wiped clean of all fingerprints in case things went south and I dropped it. I'm sure Maurice had done the same with his equipment - just in case something went wrong.

As we drove slowly past the building, Maurice ducked down so he could see the upper floors of the building.

"There," he said. "Sixth floor, corner unit."

I leaned forward, looking out the windshield and counted up six balconies and saw that the lights were on in the apartment.

Maurice drove to the corner and around the corner, parking in front of a closed coffee shop.

We exited the car, Maurice slipping his hands in the pockets of his jacket, me lugging my video camera and following him as we made our way into the alley behind the apartment building.

When we arrived at a steel door tucked in a small alcove, Maurice produced a set of keys, and just like that we were inside an access corridor. Maurice walked swiftly, already knowing where he was going, and I marveled at the level of professionalism of Dark Encounter specialists as we passed doors behind which machines and pumps hummed as they kept the building alive.

Coming to a freight elevator, Maurice used another key from his ring and the elevator doors opened. The same key allowed him to activate the elevator and he pushed the button for the sixth floor, the doors closing smoothly and the gravity of the elevator increasing rapidly as we rushed upward.

On the sixth floor, the elevator opened into a small maintenance area with a sink, mops and buckets, an industrial vacuum and steam cleaner. Maurice walked to another steel door and opened it a crack, peering through and checking the carpeted corridor in the common area outside the room.

Maurice nodded to me and opened the door, and together we walked to apartment 605. And of course, Maurice had a key for this door as well.

Carefully unlocking the deadbolt and the handset, Maurice eased the door open and we could hear a girl talking and laughing softly. Maurice motioned to me to start filming and to follow as he drew a handgun with a long silencer from within his jacket.

We found her in the bedroom masturbating and she appeared to be talking to herself, until we saw the Bluetooth headset hooked over her left ear. She was engaged in phone sex no doubt. She was wearing black latex gloves, and I get why; they feel sensual and are smooth - no chance of scratching tender flesh with a rough nail. She was twisted sideways on the bed, her short skirt hoisted and the fingers of one hand working her cunt, the other between the cheeks of her bum. When she saw us she looked confused, then she saw the gun in Maurice's hand and screamed, sitting up.

"Call the police," she gasped into the Bluetooth microphone. Maurice calmly reached out and plucked it from her ear, thumbing it off and tossing it into the corner.

Maurice reached down and slipped his free hand into her right armpit and lifted her off the bed, moving her to the centre of the room. He was surprisingly patient and gentle considering what he was about to do.

Janice was shaking badly, overwhelmed by fear. Her legs gave out on her and she dropped to her knees, her black gloved hands on her thighs, trembling but holding herself upright. I could smell her sex and the musky scent of her anus wafting up from her gloved hands.

"I'm going to count to three," Maurice said quietly, cocking the pistol as I recorded everything.

"... no ..." Janice whined, her voice hitching, "... no ... no ... no ..."

"One," Maurice began counting as I framed the event in my viewfinder. I saw through the lens that Janice was peeing herself, urine flowing down her inner thighs.

"... please ... please don't do this ..."

"Two. Close your eyes, Janice." Maurice's voice was calm. Despite her terror, Janice did close her eyes.

But she never finished her final bargaining. The pistol kicked in Maurice's hand and the pistol made a 'phut' sound. Blood and brain matter sprayed from Janice's forehead and she fell forward, face down on the floor.

I did some close-ups of her head and body, then panned up to reveal the cityscape through the bedroom window to set a good fade-to-black end shot, then hit the power button.

Maurice led they way out through the building and to our car and it wasn't until we were crossing the bridge toward the airport where we would be boarding the Dark Encounter's private jet that at last I spoke.

"You didn't finish counting," I said, and even though I said it as a statement, Maurice knew what I was asking.